


Day 5:First kiss

by Valedoceanlover



Series: dicktigerweek2020 [5]
Category: Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dick Grayson is Agent 37, Dick Grayson is Demisexual, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Romani Dick Grayson, Tiger is Agent 1, late to the party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valedoceanlover/pseuds/Valedoceanlover
Summary: Dick and Tiger get stuck in a cave in and have nothing to do but to get to know each other.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Tiger
Series: dicktigerweek2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642267
Kudos: 34





	Day 5:First kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Gadjo = Non-Romani

Damn it! The tunnels around us shake; a deep groan escapes them as dust begins to fill the air. I can already hear Agents thirty-seven’s gloating that his apprehension at entering this centuries old mine, long abandoned before a lunatic scientist took refuge in its depths, was completely justified. Spyral convinced that they were onto something, something that could kill millions, sent us. We were supposed to steal their files, kill anyone we came across, much to Agents Thirty-sevens chagrin and seal the mine behind us forever. 

The walls overeager started shaking before I had a chance to reach the guards, determined to keep its secrets buried in its depths, and us along with them. Realizing the futility of the situation I start heading back to the surface, the mission failed. Thirty-seven who had went to investigate another section of tunnels will have to get out on his own, if the idiot even realizes what is happening. A part of me hopes he won’t and I can finally be free of him. 

I’m hoping I’m heading in the right direction; dust so thick in the dim lighting, I could easily get turned around when the ground jumps, a deafening crack resonates through the walls, groaning protests as they shift. 

A force slams into my side as the ground gives way. 

* * *

Everything hurts, but I’m fortunately not pinned by anything. The light sounds of dust still thick in the air settling, and coughs echo in the tiny space, I realize if belatedly that not all of them are my own. “Please tell me you’re in one piece Agent One?” A voice croaks, interrupted by another attempt to clear their lungs. “I don’t want to explain this to Matron on my own.” It takes me longer than I’d like to place Agent Thirty-seven’s voice. _Great, what have I done to deserve the misfortune of being trapped with **him**? _

I consider not answering for a moment but my fears of him not stopping till I do win out. “I am alive.” My lungs protest their use, dirt coating my airways, and drying my mouth. 

“Good.” Comes minutes later. “Still didn’t answer my question.” Later still. 

“Yes,” I growl. “I’m in one piece.” Annoyance already flaring in my gut. 

“Good, good.” He repeats to himself quieter. I manage to sit up. Everything protests the movement so I lean against the nearest wall. 

It feels both as though forever and a second has passed when small cracks come from across the chamber. The dull red glow materializes, blinding at first. Agent thirty-seven tosses the glow stick a few feet from himself. The outlines of the wall and his form become visible in the dull light. From what I can tell he appears to be clear from the new walls and intact. The lack of screaming in agony leads me to believe any injuries he may have aren’t serious. 

“Rule one, always be prepared.” I’m not sure if he’s muttering to me or himself but I stay silent. 

Our confines become clearer as the dust settles. A few meters wide and long; but not tall enough to stand up, for me anyway, not sure about thirty-seven, of both round and jagged rock. 

* * *

“You able to get through to Spyral?” He once again breaks the silence. 

“No.” 

“Do you think they know what happened?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you think they know we’re still alive?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Do-”

“Thirty-seven stop wasting our air with your inane questions!” My voice rumbles in the small space, louder than I intended. 

“It’s Dick Grayson.” He introduces. 

“I don’t care!” His insistence at being called such a juvenile name fills me with indignation. 

“What’s yours?” 

“Thirty-seven.” I growl in warning. 

“That’s an odd name!” 

“Shut your trap while you still can.” 

“I’m just trying to be friendly.” He pouts. 

“We’re not friends, we will never be friends. You’re just an incompetent annoyance Matron saddled me with, but not for much longer. If. You. Don’t. Shut. Up!” The noise of exasperation he makes surprises me. It shouldn’t at this point. He’s proven himself on multiple occasions, too stupid to grasp the severity of dangers he’s stumbled into.

I press more of my body against the rocks, the cold soothing. Not as effective as an ice pack but better than nothing. Thirty-seven draws in a deeper breath about to speak, I growl in warning. He lets it out. 

* * *

The cool walls once soothing have gotten colder, numbing my skin where contact is made. Someone’s stomach rumbles, I’m too tired to care whose, and I try to think of anything but food. 

“Agent one.” A sigh rips from me, the energy to do anything much else fleeing. 

“What?” 

“You should sit up.” He sounds slightly worried. 

“To what end?” 

“Your loosing body heat to fast. You need to conserve what you have left.” It’s definitely concern in his voice. I consider his words briefly but the energy to move does not come. 

“One-” Enough time must have past for him to feel a second attempt is in order. 

“You have something against quiet Agent Thirty-seven?” I ask in annoyance. He doesn’t immediately respond, considering his words. 

“Yes.” He eventually responds. “In my experience quiet has never meant anything good. It’s always been the calm before the storm or the fallout.” He seems lost in thought for a moment. “What about you? You have something against noise?” 

“Yes.” I meant to snap, instead it came out resigned. “I grew up in a war zone.” I admit the reasoning beyond me. “The quiet was a reprieve from all the killing. The acknowledgment in the back of our mind that every gunshot, explosion and scream was another life lost another family member or friend you would never see again, at least in one piece. Quiet was… a brief moment to relax, to sleep.” 

“To grieve.” He counters solemnly. 

“Are you satisfied yet? Have we wasted enough of our limited air?” Surly even he must realize it’s a commodity we won’t have much longer. 

“I’ve nearly died enough ways in my life to know I’d rather suffocate than freeze to death.” 

I roll my eyes. “We’re not going to-” It finally resonates in my brain that it hasn’t just been the walls that have fallen in temperature. That our breaths have turned white, hardly noticeable in the dim light. And that occasionally a shiver has distorted his words. 

I force myself to sit up, what has not become numb protests in sharp agony. And inch myself away from the wall, around a foot or two, and closer to Agent Thirty-seven. It’s hard to tell but he seems more relaxed once I finally settle. 

I break the silence this time, something he said nagging me. “What have you done wrong with your life that you have so much experience nearly dying?” Silently he stares at me. 

“Didn’t Matron give you information on me when she informed you of our partnership?” 

“She did. I didn’t read it. Of our previous encounters, I did not thing you’d live long enough for it to be prudent.” He stares at me caught between bafflement and indignation. I’m beginning to think he won’t answer, as the silence drags on. Part of me rejoices, but my curiosity has been peaked, and I silently curse my past self for immediately destroying the file. Matron won’t give me another, should we make it out of here alive. 

“I was a fairly recognizable vigilante. At some point someone decided to call us superheroes.” A cold chill runs through me and I curse myself again, I should have at least gazed over it to know if there was anything Checkmate might be interested in, and they would have, even if he was just a small fry, Checkmate wants all the superheroes, and I just passed up the perfect opportunity. Though in my defense who would ever think a superhero would get involved with Spyral. 

“Really? Who were you?” 

“Just Google my name, it’s probably the first thing that’ll pop up.” My gut drops, Checkmate would already know everything they need about him. 

“You didn’t want to keep it a secret?” His idiocy will never stop amazing me. 

“It was revealed the last time I was captured, before they tried to kill me.” Solemnness overtakes him. “The world knows, and that puts everyone I care about at risk. Their safer if the world still thinks I’m dead.” He sounds as though he’s trying to convince himself of the last statement. “I made a lot of enemies, stopping those who filled the streets with chaos and fear.” 

“So why do it? Why dress up in a ridiculous costume and put your life on the line?” 

“Why didn’t you leave an active war zone?” He counters. “Why not become a refugee, find a better, safer life elsewhere?” 

“To protect those that couldn’t!” 

“And wasn’t every gunshot, stab wound, and explosion you got to close to, worth it?” 

“It was.” Even if it’s never stopped, the scenery and faces have changed but the fighting never ends. 

“So why did you leave?” I contemplate not answering; it’s none of his business. 

“I apparently managed to make a name for myself and my reputation preceded me. Strangers came, said they had the ability to end the war; I just had to do something’s for them first.” I didn’t trust them at first but I’d been fighting in the war most of my life, and nothing seemed to be making any difference. I hoped that they could. “Than life would go back to how it was and although I don’t really remember a time before, and all those that had died would still be gone. I wanted to take that chance, for everyone who was still alive, still hoping.” I don’t know what I’ll do with myself after it’s all over. Fighting’s been all I’ve known for so long. “Why didn’t you? Your identity revealed, why not go to ground, change your name and live a normal ‘nine to five’?” 

A laugh bursts from him. “That would be a living nightmare. Living a ‘normal’ life. Hard pass. I’ve never known normal a day in my life.” He chuckles. “And I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Well maybe a day or two, to actually get some sleep would be nice.” A sigh turns to a shiver. “I have tried though, once. To have a civilian life. I was between mantles.” His tone turns contemplative. “Perhaps if I had stayed with it I could have learned; to ignore calls for help, my every instinct telling me that I could make the difference between life and death.” A chuckle. “My nerves were shot after week one, constantly anticipating something going wrong, and having to force myself to do nothing when it did. Knowing that people I cared about were still doing so, and I wasn’t there to watch their back, wasn’t there to help when they needed it, to make sure they were making it home in one piece. Emotionally I was drained, mentally unchallenged and with enough pent up energy I could never seem to burn.” 

“Were you born into it then?” 

“No. I was born to an international traveling circus. Hundreds of people and some animals’ crammed into a train. There was always noise, and someone to bump into. Privacy was…” A laugh. “Non-existent and the **smell**!” Another laugh. “Everything was worth it though, when you step into the ring surrounded by a cheering audience. I would have happily lived my entire life in that circus.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I felt pity for our audiences for their mundane lives. After all there’s a reason people are drawn to the circus, to an escape. From the people they knew, their path in life, or rules they found so constricting. We had rules though enforced differently than the places we were in but we were our own little town, we could do what we wanted as long as the outsiders and lawmen never found out.” 

“So you were judge, jury and executioner?” 

“As a collective.” 

“You were already dissociated enough from the law you saw no problem putting on a mask and delivering your own justice.” 

“Kind of. In the beginning it was either put on a mask, follow my mentors lead and he’d look past all the aggravated assaults and the murder attempts that were starting to pile up, and help bring the bastard who killed my family to legal justice or continue doing those things and get myself killed. It was only supposed to be one case, anyway.” 

“Why wasn’t it?” 

“He must have realized that I wasn’t going to sit on my hands while atrocities happened around me, and decided the best way to not find my corpse in an ally somewhere was to keep an eye on me.” 

“So you’d attempt murder and yet here you are on your moral high horse deciding no one else can.” 

“One, I was nine. Two I learned better.” 

“Is letting those who’ve ruined other’s lives live to ruin more really better?” 

He shrugs. “A Gadjo is a Gadjo, their lives are equal in my eyes, with few and limited exceptions. It’s not my culture and there for not my call to make.” His-our shivering is constant now, he’s brought his legs to his chest and tucked his arms between them and his body. His form’s vibrating. 

Gadjo, the word sounds familiar, something I heard a long time ago. “Dick doesn’t sound like a gypsy name.” I remark. His glare bores into me. 

“Romani, understood?” The malice in his words leaves no doubt that any miss speak in the future is one I will surly and quickly regret. 

“Understood.” My teeth chatter as I speak. His stare lessens so he must have understood what I said. 

“It’s a stage name. One that’s easy to pronounce, for most of the audience and coworkers back in the day. My whole family had them, some other acts as well. When I left the circus, it’s just what every one called me I never bothered to correct them with my legal name.” 

“People called you dick?” 

“It is the short form of the name Richard. But sometimes people do mean it as the insult.” 

“What’s your real name than?” 

“If I haven’t told my adoptive family and friends, what makes you think I would tell you?” 

“From one nomadic decent to another.” He considers my words for a moment. 

“Only if you tell me yours.” I look away. 

“I can’t do that.” He hums. “I don’t remember it.” I admit. “Or my families faces. I think I had parents and a brother. They… were gone in an instant. And they took my birth name with them.” Not that it really matters. The boy I had been died back then. There is understanding in his eyes. In his soul he knows. My chest aches; I want him to turn away. But his eyes lock on mine, mesmerizing. I have to force myself to close mine. His gaze was far to gentle for one who’s done the things I have. 

“You said you had family?” I need to break the silence, need him to stop looking at me like that. His eyes stay in my vision though I can no longer see. A shiver runs through me, from the cold I tell myself. 

“Yup!” He aims for cheerfulness but doesn’t quite make it. “A father, sister and a brother, my siblings left home already. And…” The heart break is raw in his words. “Two more brothers, passed on already. They were still so young.” He’s done talking for now, and I have no desire to push further. 

* * *

Chattering teeth is the only sound in our cave, shivering too strong to suppress. “Grayson.” I hope he could understand me. “Can you move?” He makes a noise; I can’t make out what it was supposed to be. “Come here.” Gravel scrapes as he shifts. The chattering comes closer as he crawls toward me and up my legs. He straddles my thighs, pressing as much of his torso against me as he can, wrapping first his arms, then his legs around my back and burying his face in my neck. He’s cold to the touch but less so than the air. My skin tingles where I can feel him. 

“Did you really have to wait till we were half frozen meatsicles to screw your pride?” He stutters into my clavicle. I can feel his lips move through my shirt. I want to shove him off and across the room; he’s too close, touching far too much of me. But I know if I did that he’d be taking what warmth he has left with him. 

Slowly our breathing evens out. In and out slower and longer, breathing in sync his breath ghosting across my skin. 

My hands find his hips to push him back, give me a little more space but they still at the contact. 

“Grayson.” He shifts his head, lips graze my neck. 

“Hm?” He responds slowly and drawn out the vibrations rumbling through my entire being. Eyelashes brush my skin as he blinks. I open my eyes hoping I can find anything to distract myself from his warm and solid presence, but all I find is pitch black. When did the glow stick die? He shifts more removing his head from my body, I relax slightly. “What’s up Agent One?” To right in front of my face, I wonder if he realizes only millimeters separate our faces. 

My lips are on his, pressure light and my entire being screeches to a halt. Just as quickly I pull back. What the hell did I just **do**. I still feel the warmth of his chapped lips on mine and my stomach rolls. Panic sweeps through me and I feel both too hot and too cold at the same time. Oh, Allah, please forgive me for what I have done. Disgust boils, as the realization of my damnation crushes. I knew I would be, but not for something this this depraved, this unholy. I deserve it, to be slain where I am and rot in hell for the rest of eternity. 

Grayson doesn’t strike, doesn’t even move, and the ground beneath me doesn’t open into a fiery chasm. Maybe I’m already dead and in my own personal hell but Grayson’s warm against me, his touch setting my skin ablaze, and breathing ghosting across my skin. “Agent one?” Or maybe were so far down, so buried Allah can’t see us down here. The thought makes me want to laugh, to cry. 

But Allah didn’t strike me from the earth, and Grayson’s still a warm constant pressure. As real as the freezing cave were stuck in. Maybe Allah really can’t see us, and maybe he doesn’t have to know. I don’t have to inform him. Grayson most definitely won’t. 

Grayson. I can feel his eyes on me. But he hasn’t moved. I push my lips to his again, harder this time, longer. I shove the protests of my mind and body to the side and concentrate on him against me, of the electricity that buzzes under my skin from his touch. I grip his hips tighter and try to pull him impossibly closer. 

“Agent One.” Matrons voice cuts through my head, stilling me. “We’re almost to you.” She must be talking to Grayson to because he’s gone, cold crashing against me. The thought that he wasn’t here at all, just a hallucination crashes into me, but I hear gravel shift on the other side of the cavern and my panic is swayed. “Just hold on a little longer.” 

* * *

Spyral managed to pull us out into the blinding sun over sixteen hours after the collapse. I was prepared for Matrons debrief on how things managed to fail so completely when Grayso-Agent Thirty-seven produced the files he had somehow managed to retrieve. Reports given, I left out everything that transpired between Agent Thirty-seven and myself after the collapse, and files securely with Matron we were moved to Spyrals med bay. With nothing more serious than scrapes and bruises, I got extremely lucky, and was released with orders to stay warm and to take it easy for the next few days. I didn’t ask about Agent Thirty-seven. 

I enter my room ready to say my prayers and hit the sac when I feel another presence. I turn around to the door that’s been closed and there’s Agent Thirty-seven. Relaxed and in one piece, he has bandages wrapped around his head and arms, there’s a hitch in his breath and a splint on his left hand. 

“How the hell did you get in here?” I growl. 

“How do you think?” He gives me a pointed look. 

“How do you even know which rooms mine?” The same pointed look. “What do you want?” 

“Did you really kiss me down there?” My stomach drops. 

“What?” 

“Hallucinations were a thing that was happening. I want to know if that was one of them.” He’s completely serious. I want to deny it. It was a mistake one I’m being given the opportunity to erase; to bury, never to see the light of day again. But, it wouldn’t be fair to him. He is the most annoying person I have ever met and one day I will enjoy killing him. 

“Yes.” I admit. It wouldn’t be right to keep it from him. For his part he just nods and looks away rubbing his head. 

“You know,” Comes after a long moment. I’m expecting him to yell, to punch and kick. “That’s probably the bravest thing I’ve ever witnessed Tiger King of **Kandahar**.” He puts emphasis on the city, a place where doing such a thing would more likely than not get you killed. “And that’s saying something, all things considered.” 

“Is that everything Grayson?” I’m exhausted and ready for the day to be over. 

“Well.” He smiles. “If you ever want to be that brave again,” Shyly, a flush dusting his skin. “Ask. There’s no guarantee I won’t break your jaw otherwise.” It turns cheeky, and he leaves through the door with a wave. 

Is he insane! Allah may have been able to look past this transgression; this unconscious and unwilling mistake, but to go looking for it, to premeditate it… there’s no way Allah would, could do so. No, there’s no way I’ll let it happen again. Tomorrow, since being spotted outside of my room tonight will result in harsh disciplinary action, I’ll request a new partner. Not for the first time but hopefully, Allah be willing, for the last. 

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place when Damien is dead. Jason is only legally dead.


End file.
